


and my heart is a hollow plain

by sanzuh



Series: and my heart is a hollow plain [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood, Cunnilingus, Dark Jon Snow, Dark Sansa Stark, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Ramsay Bolton Dies, Ramsay Bolton is His Own Warning, Shameless Smut, Telepathic Bond, Telepathic Sex, The Old Gods (ASoIaF), Violence, sacred union
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26429059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanzuh/pseuds/sanzuh
Summary: Jon had never felt the fourth knife, only the cold as he sank to his knees. But even as snow crunched under his weight and ice cracked and melted into his hair and cloak, he kept falling. His stomach didn't lurch the way it should, his heart didn't skip a beat, stuttering with fear at the ground disappearing from under his feet, but he was stuck in a downward spiral, drifting, slipping away, going under.She reached for him as he was drowning in the abyss, grabbed him with firm, yet soft hands, with flames of red and ice of blue, the roots of her very being pulling him back up. "Come to me," she told him, not to his ears or his eyes, but addressing his heart, his core, his soul perhaps if he still had one. "Come back and save me."When Sansa is forced to marry Ramsay Bolton, she prays to the Old Gods. They send her back someone she never even knew she'd lost.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: and my heart is a hollow plain [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941112
Comments: 33
Kudos: 220





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A dose of dark!Jonsa every once in a while is good for the soul.
> 
> Title and quote from Florence + The Machine's _Breath of Life_.

_It's a harder way and it's come to claim her  
And I always say, we should be together  
I can't sleep alone, 'cause there's something in here  
And if you are gone, I will not belong here_

Sansa had known what he was the moment he had first smiled at her. The hairs on the back of her neck had stood up, and she no longer doubted the instincts she'd been ignoring for too long. Ramsay Bolton was a monster. She could see it in his pale, silver eyes. Perhaps, after so many years of dealing with them, she'd become able to recognize them on sight.

So she had prayed. She could have argued with Petyr, but he wouldn't let her get out of this deal, she should have known. She could have escaped, might have even found some people willing to help her, but she would not have gotten far.

She had prayed to the Seven for years, to send her a champion, a true knight, but they had never listened, so instead, she had retreated to the Godswood and prayed to the Heart Tree's bloody face, the one that had used to scare her. 

Off in the distance, she'd heard a wolf howling, but it had not brought her joy. Instead she'd felt cold, as if something had been taken from her, something she hadn't even been aware was hers. 

On the third night she had cut her palm with the knife she used to cut her food to offer blood to the thirsty gods of the forest, and something that had been broken inside of her, clicked back into place, even as she felt part of her life slipping away, not aimlessly, but with purpose, as if guided to some other place where it was needed. 

In her dreams, she was a wolf, and then a dead man, running over snow and ice, coming home. In the morning, she woke up with the taste of blood on her tongue. 

It was on the day of her wedding that she pressed her palm to the tree's face, letting its tears stain her hands, smearing the sap between her thighs, on her breasts, her lips and every stretch of skin that would be covered by her gown. She licked it from her fingers until they were clean again. Between the roots of the tree, she found a dagger, made of the shiniest, most dense black glass she'd ever seen. She ran her finger up its long, slender blade, easily breaking the skin on its perfect sharpness.

Ramsay Bolton wouldn't live to see another sunrise. "I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's," she told the tree. "I am the blood of Winterfell. They'll never get this wolf."

Jon had never felt the fourth knife, only the cold as he sank to his knees. But even as snow crunched under his weight and ice cracked and melted into his hair and cloak, he kept falling. His stomach didn't lurch the way it should, his heart didn't skip a beat, stuttering with fear at the ground disappearing from under his feet, but he was stuck in a downward spiral, drifting, slipping away, going under.

She reached for him as he was drowning in the abyss, grabbed him with firm, yet soft hands, with flames of red and ice of blue, the roots of her very being pulling him back up. "Come to me," she told him, not to his ears or his eyes, but addressing his heart, his core, his soul perhaps if he still had one. "Come back and save me." She pressed her lips to his, breathing life back into him. 

Men cried out and fell to their knees as he rose, others fled. A red woman raised her hands to the heavens and thanked a god as red as her eyes. She also knelt for him, not in fear nor with clumsy haste, but in slow and deliberate awe. She was not the woman he was looking for. Flames licked at her face, her shoulders and her hands as her hollow eyes looked up at him, burning with hope and lust and holy ecstasy. 

He offered her a cruel smile. It wasn't her fiery god that had brought him back. Though the flames had licked at his skin without scorching it, it was a different power that had protected him. He owed her nothing. He walked away from her, ignoring her pleas and promises of flaming swords. "You are the lord's champion," she called out to him.

"No," he mumbled to himself. "I am hers."

The world had become cold and blurred all around him, as if a veil was still separating him from it. Sounds were distant echoes, unable to pierce the constant ringing in his ears, colours dull memories of what they had been before, and whenever he tried to focus, everything around him seemed to slip away from him, like water he was trying to cup in his hands. But she was still calling for him, the spark inside his core, the other half of the life he'd been given. She was calling and he needed to find her. 

Cold as ice as he came back, numb as he walked the earth, he was burning for her. And when he closed his eyes, he could see her, on her knees in front of the monstrous white face that whispered to him in murmured chants and painful hisses. The ache wouldn't go away until he found her, those voices told him, though he couldn't understand a word they were saying.

His clothes had burned away, and a dark boy with pretty eyes hurried up to him to offer him new ones. Jon had known him in a previous life, but as soon as he blinked the memory of him had faded. A white wolf trotted up to him and Jon did recognize him. The beast also had red eyes, but they looked right to him. Red and white, like the weirwood where she had been praying for him to come to her.

For the second time in her life, Sansa went through the motions of an unwanted wedding, but she knew this time would be different. This time she wouldn't be locked away in a cage. She said the vows, aware in her heart that the gods knew she didn't mean any of them. When the man she already despised tried to seal them with a kiss, she turned to offer him her cheek.

She saw the flash of rage in his eyes, felt the feathery touch of his lips on her icy skin before they curled into a smile full of threats and cruel promise. When she smiled back at her new husband, she bared her teeth in a wolf's grin, but he never even noticed.

At the feast she forced herself to take a bite of the food that was piled on her plate, if only to settle her stomach, and she sipped from her wine, to lave her dry mouth. When the most ribald guests started calling for the bedding, she stood and loosened her cloak, letting it slip to the floor before she walked out of the hall.

He was right behind her, but she forced her feet to keep up a steady pace without speeding up. She'd concealed her dagger between the furs of the bed she'd never share with him. She could feel his hunger, his excitement, his arousal as they walked up the stairs, and it took everything in her power not to turn around and snarl at him, but she managed it, and only allowed herself a secret smile instead. 

She didn't object when he ordered her to undress and let down her hair. She ignored the feeling of his greedy eyes on her and only folded her hands in front of her stomach as he tore off his own clothes, never looking at him.

He couldn't touch her. The weirwood sap stung his skin every time his fingers tried to bite her, broke his lips when he attempted to kiss her, and when he shoved her down on the bed to push her thighs apart, he cried out in pain. That's when she reached for the dagger.

Her arm lunged forward, led by a force that was inside of her, but that wasn't hers. Her hand thrust the dagger between his ribs and her fingers twisted it. He made a choking noise and collapsed on top of her. She shoved at him with all her might and he crumpled to the floor at the side of the bed.

The door flew open and a man stepped inside. She bared her teeth and leapt to her feet, ready to launch herself at him. She froze when she recognized him. 

He was pale, with dark curls framing his long face, and clad in simple black wools and leathers. His eyes were dark and hollow, yet a fire was burning behind them. There was a long cut over his left eye that hadn't healed yet and the right side of his face and neck were splattered with blood.

"Sansa," he whispered, her name rolling off his tongue like a prayer, like a plea, though she wasn't sure what he was begging for.

She wanted to call him by his name, but instead she said, "You look like you should be dead."

"I was," her half-brother answered her. "But you called to me, begged me to come back, for you." He stared coldly at the body at his feet, the blood pooling on the floor, staining his boots and her bare feet. "You never needed me."

Still dazed by what she had done, she slowly shook her head. "But you came anyway." She could feel his eyes on her, but she made no attempt to cover her nakedness. "Where will you go now?" she asked him.

He kicked the dead man to close the distance between them, flipping him over in the process. "Where will _we_ go?"

Even in death, those pale, silver eyes stared at her. She reached for a rabbit fur to cover his face, and then she glanced up at Jon.

"You dragged me back here, Sansa," he whispered, so close now they were almost touching. "You can't send me away."

She clutched his arm, nails digging into cold leather. "I wasn't." She paused, averting her eyes. "I only assumed you wouldn't want to stay. Not for me."

"Everything I did has been for you, as will be everything I'm still to do."

 _Everything I did._ The words sent a chill down her spine. Her eyes widened as she found his face again. _What have you done for me, Jon?_

His lips curled into a smile that didn't bring her any comfort. "I've killed them all."

She gulped and released his arm. "All of them?"

"All who tried to stop me," he specified with a shrug. "All who put themselves between me and you."

"Jon," she whimpered. 

His hand flew up, his thumb brushing her bottom lip. He pulled it back to rub his fingers together and sniff them before he closed his lips over his thumb to taste the red tainting her mouth. He took a step back and his eyes raked over her body. 

"You've got blood all over you," he told her.

She knew it wasn't the blood he'd been looking at. "So do you," she tried to answer him innocently, but her voice came out on a stuttered breath that morphed into a whine she attempted to swallow back. He chuckled, keeping his eyes on her face, and she know what was coming next. She wanted it. She wanted him. 

_Kiss me,_ she thought desperately, and he smiled before he closed the distance between them with a slow, sure step, his fingers grabbing fistfuls of her hair, his eyes never leaving hers, until he was too close, and he tilted his head to brush his lips against hers. His tongue darted out to lick her lips clean, and her hands flew up, curling into the front of his jerkin like claws. 

He pulled back with a soft groan and she whimpered at the quick loss of his touch. She lunged forward to nip at his lips, angling her face so she could mould hers against them. He tugged at her hair as he kissed her back, but too soon, his mouth left hers again. 

He skimmed his nose down her neck, opening his mouth over the hollow where her collarbones met, breathing her in. She threw her head back to give him better access, her hands flying up into his curls. He pressed his lips to the soft skin she was offering him, and exhaled through his nose, his breath fanning warm and moist against her throat, nipping at it before he turned his head to close his lips over her collarbone.

His hands released her hair, curling around her shoulder and waist instead, and he licked the weirwood sap from her skin, his tongue oddly hot and wet for a man who was supposed to be dead. His mouth moved lower as his hand on the small of her back pulled her closer. When his lips closed over her nipple and he sucked hard and relentlessly, she arched up against him, a hiss escaping from her lips.

"Not here," she told him, now that she hadn't completely lost her wits yet. "The Godswood."

He lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the room. They didn't meet anyone on the way out, and she vaguely wondered if those who he had left alive were hiding from him. His arms never trembled under her weight, and she could hardly hear him breathing. Carrying her didn't seem to tire him.

When they reached the Godswood, he only put her down when they had arrived at the Heart Tree. She kneeled and thrust her hands into the dirt to get closer to the roots, to feel the power the gods had given her again. Here, under the light of the stars, connected to the trees and the land, she understood the desire coiling inside of her. 

When he knelt beside her, he was naked as well. His hand on the small of her back was a question. 

The gods had been promised a union. They were man and wife in ways no other pair would ever be, connected by a bond that had already overcome death. If it pleased the gods for her to give her maidenhead to her half-brother, that is what she would do. It wasn't about what she wanted, the desire and compulsion simmering inside her heart, rushing through her veins, seeping into her bones was stronger than any want or need could ever be. She couldn't put that into words, and she knew he didn't need them. She knew he felt it, too.

But she told him: "You came back for me. You're the only one who ever came for me. How could I not want you?"

It was almost like a song, a long dead part of her whispered. And it was, except that this was what a song was supposed to be like, dark and twisted and beautiful, not like the empty and sentimental tales she'd loved before, which had sheltered her from the cruel outside world. This melody, this constant thrum incited and fed a gnawing ache deep inside of her that only made her hungrier for more.

A cut palm for the gods, her maidenhead for Jon, the last of her blood that would be spilled, only what was given willingly. She could hear his voice inside her head. _Say it, Sansa!_ he ordered her. _I need to hear you say it._

She turned to look at him and licked her lips. "I want you, Jon. Take me."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming back from the dead has turned him into a cold and ruthless killer, but for her, he'll be whatever she needs him to be, and he'll give her whatever she wants.

When Jon had wanted to leave, they'd tried to stop him. "You can't just walk away," one of them had said. "You're a man of the Night's Watch." Those words had meant something to him once. _And now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death._

"My watch has ended," he had told them, and whistled for Ghost to follow him. _Ghost, aye,_ that was the wolf's name. It made him smile. 

Most of the men had accepted his answer, but one of them had said: "We can't let you leave, Lord Commander." 

He had clenched his fists, and his nostrils had flared. A smashed skull, a broken neck, and Ghost tearing out a throat. That's all it had taken. Actions spoke louder than words. He'd left the place he had known as Castle Black then, the wolf by his side. Some of the men had trailed after him, at a distance, some black brothers, some not. They could follow him if they wanted to, as long as they didn't hold him back from getting to her. 

He soon learned they couldn't keep up with him anyway. He ran over snow and ice and dirt, and they fell behind. His run passed in a blur, until he reached the great granite walls of Winterfell. He said the name out loud to savour the taste of it on his tongue. It had also meant something to him once, more than the other place, and the vows he'd taken, but now that was a distant memory, too grueling to recall properly. Trying to remember aggravated him and hurt his head. All that mattered was that she was there.

He stopped running, easily coming to a halt and stared ahead of him. Ghost sat down on his haunches right next to him. He smiled when he noticed they'd seen him. He could see them moving along the battlements, like ants, watching him, unsure what to do.

"Good day to you," he bellowed.

They froze, almost as one, though some of them tried to carry on with whatever it was they were doing.

He shook his head and roared: "Open the gates!"

They failed to obey, but it didn't matter. They couldn't keep him out, neither could walls or moats or gates, not if she wanted him there with her. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he was inside.

Some of them screamed and fled, but one brave fool charged at him. Jon knocked the sword from his hand and his fingers curled around the man's neck. His feet were lifted off the ground, and soon his body stopped struggling. Jon released him and he dropped down in a mess of flesh and bones.

He turned around to face the gates. Now that he was inside, it was easy to open them with a flick of his finger. His wolf had already been waiting to be let in. He trotted up to Jon and sat down again, waiting for his command.

Jon closed his eyes again. She was so close. His body shuddered with the ache and delight of having her near. He breathed in the cool air, prolonging the moment of anticipation, the promise of sweet relief when he finally found her. _I'm almost there,_ he told her, not sure if she'd be able to hear him.

More men poured into the yard. Together, he and Ghost beat them all back. The longer it took, the bloodier it all became, as their resistance annoyed him, but they couldn't tire him or stop him. He was too close to her now. He told Ghost to stay behind.

When he reached his destination, the door flew open before he'd even consciously willed it to. There was a body on the floor, blood and life still leaking from it, but it only held his attention for a fraction of a heartbeat. He saw her.

She was so bright she was almost painful to look at, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. He stepped over the threshold, but before he got a chance to drink her in, she bared her teeth and leapt to her feet, ready to launch herself at him. He'd welcome her, let her do with him as she wished, but then she froze and stood there staring at him.

Hair like fire, eyes like ice, and both so alive. Her bare alabaster skin was covered with a thin, sticky, red film and splattered with a spray of darker droplets. If he had ever wanted a woman before, seeing her would make him forget in an instant. The delight flowing through his veins at finally being so close to her was agony, the ache to get even closer unbearably sweet. 

Now that he'd laid eyes on her, the world made sense to him, it felt real again. Her ambrosial body sang to him. For the first time since he'd returned, he became painfully aware of his own breathing and of the sound and pulse of his beating heart. 

"Sansa," he whispered, her name coming to him like a gift from above. It was a prayer and a plea for what only she could give him. 

Sansa turned to look at him where he was kneeling beside her in front of the Heart Tree and licked her lips. "I want you, Jon. Take me." He was hers, she'd gladly become his.

He stood and held out his hand. She took it and he tugged her with him to sit down on one of the weirwood's elevated roots, pulling her into his lap. Her legs dangled off one strong thigh, one arm locked her in its grip. She could feel his need for her in her heart and in the pit of her stomach, at the base of her spine. It was so powerful it almost made her sob.

His free hand reached for her hair, brushing it back from her face. He lifted a strand to his nose and sniffed it, shuddering in delight. He combed his fingers through it and then he pressed his cheek to her heart, his beard tickling the frail skin there. His arm snaked around her waist, pulling her into him, and he sighed.

When he looked up at her again, the awe and tenderness emanating from his face was equally thrilling and frightening. 

"Hush," he told her, putting his thumb on her chin. "You have nothing to fear from me. Nor from anything else. I'll protect you, I promise." 

He inclined his head, the tip of his nose skimming her throat and neck, and she could feel him breathing her in, could sense the joy and relief the scent of her skin gave him. He nuzzled her throat and pressed his lips to her jaw, and then her cheek.

His gentle hand turned her face so he could kiss both of her eyelids and then her forehead. The touch of his lips was light as a feather, a warm whisper and a cool reprieve at the same time, yet she could feel it permeating her skin, all the way down to the core of her being. 

_Oh,_ the ache, the sweet ache he'd roused inside of her, feeding and fueling it with every single touch. He lifted her in his arms to lay her down on the bed of grass and leaves, pressing himself close to lick the weirwood sap from her skin. Her body responded to every lap and flick of his tongue, pulling itself as taut as a bowstring. She was sure that if the tension were to increase beyond where it had already lifted her to, her body would start to drift and hover above the ground.

She could feel his devotion, his pleasure, his hunger, and a sob wrecked her body. It was too much, too much, and yet she needed more.

Feeling her need, and barely able to resist his own, Jon climbed over her to cover her body with his own, and she arched up against him, her hands reaching for every inch of him, tugging him closer. With every pull of his lips, every nip of his teeth and every stroke of his tongue he was draining her, feeling her warmth pouring into him, coursing through his veins and permeating every last inch of his body.

Bracing himself on one arm, he grabbed her by the waist and inclined his head until his mouth was on her jaw and he started nibbling and licking his way down, encouraged by the sounds falling from her lips. He closed his mouth over her long white throat again and dug his teeth in with the slightest of pressure. She gasped as he sucked on the left side of her neck, long and hard. His mouth travelled lower, kissing and nipping at her collarbones. He moved to her tits next, using his fingers and lips and teeth and tongue to lavish attention on them. Her moans were the sweetest song he had ever heard. He could easily spend another hour here, but he could smell the musk of her arousal, and he sensed her impatience and the unbearable tension in her body. 

_My maidenhead for Jon,_ he could still hear her thinking, and it almost unmanned him. _Mine,_ he chanted to himself, _only mine._ And she quaked and whimpered in response. It would be easy to part her thighs, find that sweet spot between her legs that had never been touched by another and plunge himself inside her snug, wet heat, claiming her, fucking her and pulling back out to see her maiden's blood on his cock. The image aroused her as much as it did him.

Jon lifted her into his arms again. He laid her down on the flat boulder bordering the black pool under the weirwood, as if she was a sacrifice for the gods in the tree. She wasn't though, she was both altar and goddess, and he meant to worship her. Finally, now he was with her, the world had snapped back into focus. He almost felt alive again, but he was still cold and empty inside and she was blazing and radiant. He craved her warmth, even if he knew it would consume him in an instant.

He moved away from her and pushed himself to his feet to take her in. She lay there waiting for him, with her copper hair fanned out behind her head, her ivory skin still splattered with sap and blood where his mouth hadn't touched her yet, the white paths of his tongue stark against the stains, and her feet were still red and sticky. _Red leaves, red roots._ She almost looked like a Heart Tree herself.

He was aching for her, had been since the moment he'd opened his eyes to this strange, new life she'd given him. _I want you, Jon,_ she'd told him. He knew she was telling the truth. They were already one in mind and soul. She couldn't lie to him. _Take me,_ she'd begged him. He would. He wanted to share her flesh as well. _The gods have been promised a union._ No god or man would be able to stop him from truly becoming one with her. He was already hers, now he'd mark her as his, but he wanted something else first. He was hers, he'd come back for her, he wanted to give her something back, just for her, the woman, not the lady wolf, though he had to admit he craved it, too.

He lowered himself onto his knees and pulled her to the edge of the rock to shoulder her thighs apart. He could smell her arousal, he could see it and he felt it in his own body. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh and nipped at the soft flesh. His body jerked with hers. He could feel her confusion, but it was soon overpowered by her desire and by his own ardour.

"I want to make you feel good," he rasped.

 _Gods, yes, please,_ she begged him.

He brushed a finger through her maidenhair, felt her breath hitching and her heart picking up its pace before he could hear it. _Gods,_ how could she bear it? Feeling what she felt had him hard and leaking, a mere touch away from exploding.

He slipped his finger between her slick folds, and a sob ripped through his chest at her sharp quiver of pleasure that rippled through both of their bodies. She moaned with him when he popped his finger into his mouth, savouring her sweet nectar before inclining his head to dive in, just when she braced herself on her elbows to watch him. 

He hooked her legs over his shoulders, holding her steady with one arm over her stomach. He started lapping at her folds, lightly at first, only teasing his tongue around her nub, carefully avoiding direct contact. He suckled and nibbled at her lower lips, dipping his tongue into her from time to time. He brought her as close as either of them could take without touching the spot they both desperately wanted him to touch, her toes curling against his back.

Jon reached down, tightly wrapping his hand around his length and tugging once to squeeze the tip of his cock as he closed his lips over Sansa's nub. He grinned into her cunt as she bucked her hips and mewled, sending shudders down his spine, the coil in his groin tightening. At his answering moan, she threaded her fingers through his curls, pulling hard.

The sharp pricks of pain sent jolts of pleasure down to his cock, his balls already beginning to tighten up. He hummed and sucked and licked, barely even touching himself, as Sansa's building pleasure was already nearly too much for him to bear. He could feel both of their bodies tensing up. Sansa lay back and started grinding her hips against his mouth and he had to release his cock to stop himself from finishing first. 

He sucked hard and her back arched off the boulder as she peaked with a cry, almost tearing out his hair and soaking his beard with her juices, and the coil in his groin snapped. He kept sucking until she stopped shuddering, even as waves of pleasure crashed through his own body.

Her flushed face was the loveliest thing he'd ever seen, and her bottom lip was bleeding where her teeth had broken it when their peaks had washed over her. He moved up to brace himself over her and lap the blood off her chin.

They were lying down in the grass, facing each other, still recovering from the pleasure they had found earlier, when Jon closed his eyes. She could see the image inside his mind as clearly as if she had conjured it herself.

She could see and feel herself on top of him, bouncing up and down on his cock. Heat flushed her cheeks, despite their connection, despite what they'd done earlier. She was still a maid, after all.

_Which is exactly the reason why we should do it like that. You'll be in control._

"I know you wouldn't hurt me," she objected weakly.

He shook his head, his dark eyes softer than they had been before. _I don't even think I'd be physically able to harm you._

She smiled at him, her cheeks still flushed, but as she tried to picture it from her side, she realized that she would enjoy being in control. No one had ever given her that option, but Jon had had offered it before she'd even realized she needed it. His knuckles brushed her cheekbone, and her eyes fluttered closed. 

Still, what he was proposing was not how she had imagined it. She'd pictured herself surrendering to him, his body covering hers with her back on the cool grass. She'd imagined giving him what so many others had tried to take. His hands and mouth on her. He'd be gentle at first, but then, overcome by his desire for her, he'd fuck her into the dirt. Heat pooled between her legs. She was dripping for him.

She squeezed her eyes shut, letting those images play out for him to see, and she could feel the blood rushing to his groin as he grew hard for her. 

He chuckled. "Don't worry, we'll get to that part. But first I want to see you on top of me." He took her hand and pulled her into his lap until she was straddling him. _Do you trust me?_

She nodded and his hands curled around her hips to guide her. She reached between them to direct him inside of her. When the tip of his cock breached her entrance, she hissed, or perhaps he did, probably the both of them. 

The stretch stung, but she could also feel what it was like for him to be welcomed into her cunt, so when she felt the last bit of resistance, it was easy to sink further down and engulf him completely. Shared moans filled the space between them and she had to steady herself with a couple of deep breaths before she could roll her hips. The sensation was overwhelming. 

He wrapped his arms around her to hold her close, and she carded her fingers through his curls. Her eyes found his and they almost drowned in each other's gazes. She could no longer tell where she ended and he began. Being joined with him like this, it would take little to bring her to a second peak. His eyes fluttered closed with a long grunt at her realization and he released her to lie back, gazing up at her as his hands grabbed her hips again. He helped her to lift herself almost entirely off his length before sliding down again. The head of his cock stroked an incredibly sweet spot inside of her as her inner walls squeezed and pushed and pulled at him.

Too soon, she had to stop moving again. Neither of them wanted it to end so quickly, though both of their bodies craved the friction. Panting, straining, sweating and hearts hammering inside both of their chests, they fought against the urge to buck and thrust and cling to each other, until they couldn't take it anymore.

He flipped them over, slipping out of her, and the loss was both relief and agony to them. She arched up against him, canting her hips, and he braced himself over her, kissing her cheek, and reached down to guide himself back inside of her with a mutual groan. Being joined again was pure bliss.

He was slow and sure and gentle at first, but it didn't take long for him to lose control. She could feel his restraint slip away, but she didn't try to stop him, she welcomed it. She met him thrust for thrust, her hands reaching for every inch of skin she could possibly touch, clasping and clinging, until she was just as lost as he was.

It didn't frighten her, it was a freedom she'd never experienced before, and they weren't truly adrift, as they were tethered to each other. Once again, they were so close she wasn't sure there was anything left separating them, though they still wanted to get closer. Desire and rising pleasure overwhelmed the both of them, and there was no telling where it had started, it existed between and within both of their bodies, strengthened by the impossible bond between their souls.

This time, his peak came first, though soon it was hard to determine whose pleasure they were feeling. It was even better than when he'd put his mouth on her, so incredible and indescribable that she felt as if they had both left their bodies, while still feeling the convulsions their climaxes had caused, moonlight cradling them and rainbows singing all around them.

Moments or hours later, neither of them could be sure, they were lying in the grass again, sweating, shivering limbs clinging to each other. There was a lightness in their bones, an easy joy neither of them had felt in ages. They stayed there like that for a long time. 

When the red light of the rising sun started seeping through the leaves of the Godswood, Sansa sank to her knees in front of the Heart Tree, her hands cradling her flat belly. "It's done. The wolves will come again," she said, a sluggish smile trying to pull up her lips. She glanced back to see Jon standing a couple of feet behind her, and fear overwhelmed her. 

"Don't go," she told him. "Don't leave me."

He was right beside her. "I don't want to. But you got what you needed from me."

She took his hand and placed it against her cheek, her eyes fluttering closed as she leaned into his palm. "I need _you."_

He pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth and leaned his forehead against hers, taking a deep breath. _I'll stay, as long as you need me, I'll stay._

She angled her head to capture his lips in a languid kiss. _I'll always need you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! It's a different take on a darker Jon I hadn't really explored before, but the idea came to me, and I decided I had to write it down 😊


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